Things We Didn't Plan
by sienna27
Summary: Universe A: Offshoot of The Hours - TV Prompt Forum: Title Challenge - A Man In Blue - After suffering an unexpected tragedy, JJ needs to find a way to move on with her life. Rossi friendship. Can be read even if you don't know the Girl'verse
1. A Death In The Family

**Author's Note**: New multi-chapter, part of Universe A. This is an historic day (if history was really boring), the first big story in the Girl'verse that is _not_ focused on H/P! This is a JJ story that spins off the tail end of time covering H/P's relationship over in The Hours. If you read _The Ides Of May_, that posting that took place on Mother's Day, yeah, this is the larger story I referenced in there. So these events coming here will lead up to that day.

I know it might seem odd to be posting a story spinoff that takes place chronologically at a point that we haven't yet reached in the new_ Hours_, but this fic starts right after the point in time that fic is already predetermined to stop, so no overlap in events. Not to mention the Girl'verse has already continued beyond _The Hours_ over in two other stories so it's not such a leap to move ahead again. As The Doctor would say, it's just one big ball of wibbley, wobbley, timey wimey stuff :)

If you usually read me for H/P, feel free to stick around because this is that too. But as a side dish. Again, the focus is JJ and how she deals with what happens to her here in this chapter. Dave will primarily be stepping up in the supporting role (just a friend) with the rest of the team filling in as supporting players.

**

* * *

TV Prompt Set #17 (April)**

Show: Crossing Jordan

Title Challenge: A Man In Blue

**

* * *

A Death In The Family**

JJ's breath was coming slow and shallow as she stood frozen in the middle of her foyer. Her phone was pressed to her ear and clutched tightly in her left hand . . . her revolver was hanging limply from her right. It was two seventeen in the morning and she was on the verge of a complete breakdown.

Something had happened.

Will's partner and his captain were standing on her porch and they kept knocking on her door, pleading for her to let them in . . . but she was ignoring them. She just kept dialing her husband.

But Will wasn't picking up his phone.

She'd been calling him and calling him and . . . her eyes started to burn as the voicemail came on again . . . and it just rang and rang and rang.

"JJ, please, _please_ open the door."

That one was Ginnie. Ginnie Washington, Will's partner. It sounded like she was crying. The two of them were supposed to be off at a twenty-four meth stakeout downtown. It was only hour eighteen and here Ginnie was crying on her front porch pleading with JJ to open the door.

But . . . JJ's own tears started to pool as the phone fell to her side . . . she didn't want to open the door.

Death was out there.

She knew that as well as she knew her own name. If Will was just hurt then they would have sent uniforms to get her. Ginnie and the captain would be at the hospital with him right now. But . . . a tear spilled over . . . they weren't at a hospital.

They were here.

And as much as JJ wanted to put off the moment . . . to keep living in a world where she wasn't yet a widow at thirty-one . . . she knew that she needed to let these people tell her what they came to tell her. Because that side of the door might have been death, but this side was hell.

The unknown was killing her.

Another tear fell . . . did he suffer? Did he see it coming? Did he go quickly?

Did he call her name?

A sob started to force it's way up, but she slapped her hand over her mouth. No . . . she took a shuddering breath . . . not yet.

She couldn't do this alone.

Her gaze dropped down to her phone again, the tears spilling over freely as she saw Will's name still sitting on the screen. She'd left him six voicemail messages.

Messages that she knew he'd never get.

Feeling a wave of grief pushing against her heart, she took a breath to clamp it down. Then she took another as she moved her thumb over . . . and wiped his name away. She winced as the letters disappeared.

That was the last time she was ever going to call him.

But she couldn't think about that right now, she'd go crazy. So instead her fingers slowly began to tap down the names in her contact list. She wanted Emily and Hotch, but . . . JJ bit her lip as she pictured her friend as she was on their family visit last weekend . . . Emily still wasn't well. Her radiation treatment had been completed, but she and Hotch were both still out on leave. She certainly couldn't be dragged out of bed in the middle of the night. And JJ could never . . . and would never . . . ask Hotch to leave her.

So with her two closest friends unavailable, JJ scrolled down to the next two names on the list.

Dave and Derek.

Alpha Two and Alpha Three. And right now she definitely needed an alpha. Somebody to take charge so she wouldn't have to.

For a moment she stared at the names through her tears . . . how was she supposed to decide which of them to drag into this nightmare with her? Though she knew that they'd both come in an instant, it was a lot to ask of anyone.

Still though . . . she flinched as the knocking started again . . . she needed someone. Finally her finger fell down on the little green button.

Dave lived closer.

As she heard the phone begin to ring in her ear, JJ slipped her gun into her bathrobe pocket. Then she walked slowly over to the front door. Just as Dave's gravely voice came on the line asking if they had a case, she turned the deadbolt.

The knocking ceased just as she whispered back, "no, no case."

And she stopped, unable to say what needed to be said. The words wouldn't come.

So the pause stretched out, and when Dave came back again she could hear the sleep had cleared from his voice. A clear note of panic had replaced it.

"Honey, what's wrong? Did something happen? Are you all right?"

"I'm not hurt," JJ whispered back, "but um . . . something is wrong," her voice cracked, "something's very wrong. Would you to please come over here right now?"

She heard a rustling in the background and then Dave again, now slightly breathless. He was probably getting dressed.

"Of course. I'm half out the door," he said in a frantic rush, "but _please,_ tell me what's going on there. What's happened?"

Hearing the tension in Dave's voice, JJ froze, closing her eyes as she leaned forward to rest her head against the solid oak.

"Will's partner," she said slowly, "his captain, and a police chaplain are standing on my front porch. I saw them through the window. They're here," she swallowed over the lump, "they're here to tell me that my husband is dead," she took a breath, "but I'm not letting them in until you get here. Because I have a baby," her voice broke, "and I can't fall apart if there's nobody here to take care of him."

Stunned, Dave froze for a second in the middle of his bedroom . . . Will was dead.

Holy shit.

He ran over to grab his badge and gun off the dresser. "Oh Jesus Christ honey, I'm so sorry. I promise I'll be there in less than ten. But Jennifer," he softened his tone as he ran towards the door, "sweetie, you can't leave them out there on the porch. They're going to think something's wrong with you and break down the door. Just let them inside and tell them to sit in the living room until I get there."

He started racing down the upstairs hall, "I'm leaving now, but I'll stay on the phone. Now all you have to do is just open the door and ask them to take a seat. That's it. Then you go sit on the porch and wait for me, okay?"

JJ bit her lip before whispering back softly, "okay."

Dave was right. She couldn't leave them out there another ten minutes. They could see she'd put on the lights, they'd probably heard her on the phone . . . and she was sure they knew she'd deduced why they were there.

If she didn't at least acknowledge their presence then they were definitely going to break down the door.

So she took another breath, leaned back . . . and turned the knob. The door fell back and she was face to face with her worst nightmare. Though she'd already seen them through the glass, it wasn't the same as the live three dimensional version.

The captain was stone faced, Ginnie was crying . . . and then there was the police chaplain.

A young man with dark hair and a kind face.

He was a man in blue.

It was the uniform jacket. The other two were in plainclothes. And she could see from the shiny silver cross hanging from his neck. And that's when her world started to spin, and she realized that she was about to faint. Three pairs of hands reached for her, but she sucked in another breath, stepping back out of their reach as she steadied herself against the door.

Her eyes dropped to the ground.

"Dave," she whimpered into the phone still pressed to her ear. And though she said nothing else, he understood her all the same.

"It's okay," he said with a calm he didn't feel, "I'm right here. Just tell them to go sit in the living room, that your friend is on the way, and that you'll be with them in a moment."

The words had barely passed Dave's lips before they were coming out of JJ's mouth.

"Please go sit in the living room. My friend is on the way and I'll be with you in a moment."

The request was whispered to the floor. And then . . . deliberately keeping her eyes fixed on the same spot by her bare foot . . . JJ stepped to the side so the small group could move past her.

None of them said a word.

From the corner of her eye JJ could see that Ginnie was looking at her . . . trying to get her to look up.

But JJ continued to look down.

A second later she was alone in the doorway.

She stepped out onto the little porch and shut the door behind her. Then she walked across the creaking boards, her eyes watering anew as she remembered that Will kept promising to replace the squeaky one in the center . . . that wasn't going to happen now.

A lot of things weren't going to happen now.

She dropped down onto the top step and folded herself into a little ball.

"How much longer?" she whispered to Dave.

Hearing the tears in JJ's voice and knowing she was about to lose it, Dave jammed his foot the rest of the way down on the accelerator. It was two am on a Monday, and there was nobody on the road.

Fuck the speed limit.

"Six minutes," the needle shot up to eighty and he tipped his head, "maybe five."

"Okay," she murmured back, "I'll be waiting."

Then she closed the phone, wrapped her arms around her chest.

And began to sob.

_

* * *

A/N 2: I got the idea for this whole story based on the Man in Blue prompt. I just immediately flashed on JJ staring at a man wearing blue and her knowing he was there to tell her that her husband was dead. Working on this is rather exciting for me because, though it's Girl'verse (so well within my comfort zone) it's also something totally new at the same time. This is a story that I have the overall arc of scenes pretty clear in my head. I see it covering broadly the next six months of her life as she picks up and moves forward with the help of her friends. As with everything else, updates as time allows. But I am going to give it some focused attention this month just to get it off the ground._

_Yes, Dave's race through the streets of Virginia in the wee hours is a bit echoey to Fracture. But really, he is your go to guy if you need help in the middle of the night. Body in the hallway, Dave, dead husband, Dave, clogged sink, Dave. He is your man for all emergencies. I did consider going with Derek as the primary, secondary character, but I find it easier to write Dave. He speaks more clearly in my head, so I figured if I was going to be stepping so far away from H/P for such a focused effort, I'd best stay with what I knew. Though I am going to give Morgan some prominence here too. And Reid and Garcia. With H/P so definitively sidelined by Emily's recovery, they simply aren't going to be available to step in here, which is exactly why I picked this point in time to have this event happen. This is an opportunity for me to shift focus to the other members of the team in a way that I can't ordinarily in a straight H/P relationship story. There just ordinarily isn't any time to veer off much into their other lives. But here their presence will have purpose. _

_I'm not planning on this being super long, maybe twenty chapters, and then I have a follow up story in my head too. One with a love interest for JJ. Said love interest shall remain a mystery until we get there. I don't want to turn any shippers (pro or con for any pairing) off this world. Though I think it probably goes without saying, you can cross Hotch off the list of possibles. Em too for that matter ;) _

_So the next chapter this weekend, and then I'm going to aim for like every 2-3 weeks after that. That's my new goal to try to keep things moving, alternating focus between the Girl'verse stories (of which there are so many) and everything else. Because I find once I sink back into the Girl'verse, no matter which version it is, I can just stay there and keep sliding easily in and out of the different stories. Hence so many updates this week. It was a nice little roll that I'd love to stay on. And I'm moving Fracture and Gingerbread back into the lineup for next week._


	2. The Memory Of The Moment

**Author's Note: **A very, very oldie! Sorry to anybody who was excited about this one and I totally left you hanging. I had no intention of it falling by the wayside, but, at least we're back! And if you need to go catch up, it's just the one chapter. Plus well, the entire Girl'verse that proceeded it :) No, actually, you can read this one without reading all that came before.

And we're now picking up just a short while after JJ hung up the phone.

**Other Accounts:**

_****NEW WEBSITE: www . fractured-reality . com**_

_**I have a new website. If interested, you can read more about it (and my future on FF . net) on my Tumblr listed below. It's the June 10**__**th**__** note.**_

_**Twitter: ffsienna27 **__– For story announcements, etc. If the alerts, (or the site), are down, this is a backup to find out what's going on for postings. There's also random randomness that is my brain._

_**Tumblr: sienna27 **__– More randomness._

_**Tumblr: cmfanficprompts **__– Just as the name describes. Jointly run with Kavi Leighanna. _

* * *

**TV Forum - July 2012**

Show: Rizzoli & Isles

Title Challenge: This Is How The Heart Breaks

* * *

**The Memory of the Moment**

Rossi's brakes squealed as he screeched to a halt in front of JJ's house. Even though it had taken him half the usual time to get there . . . he still felt like he was late arriving.

Like he'd let her down.

And his already aching heart took another hit as he saw JJ through the windshield. Her hands were covering her face . . . she was huddled over in a ball on the front steps of her home.

She was sobbing.

"Shit."

With that curse and a twist of his wrist, Dave hurriedly yanked off his seatbelt and jumped from the Audi. He'd already cleared the front bumper before the echo of the slamming door bounced through the quiet neighborhood.

As he hurried up the front walk, JJ's head was lifting . . . and then their eyes caught. One small hand reached out towards him.

"Dave."

His name came out as a choked sob.

"Oh honey," he whispered while closing the last few steps, "I'm so sorry."

This was . . . sadly . . . not the first time that he'd had to make a condolence call in the middle of the night. Too many, far too many, good men and women had gone down over his years on this God forsaken world. But this was one of the few times that the call had been to comfort someone that he was this close to. Though he and Will had no real relationship beyond their connection to JJ, his personal pain here was still acute.

He was a good guy.

And as Dave pulled JJ up off the stoop and clutched her to his chest, he could think of no words of condolence to share for her loss.

None that would mean anything to her anyway.

Not someone who was in the business of making such platitudes herself. So instead of saying something well-intentioned but meaningless, he just tried to do something helpful.

Let her cry.

So he stood there rubbing her back until one side of his shirt was soaked through. At that point her sobs began to taper off into hiccups.

Finally she sniffled against his chest.

"I don't want to talk to them," she murmured, "please make them leave."

Dave winced.

"Okay," he started his response slowly as his palm glided along her back, "but Jennifer, are you really sure about that? Because later on you might regr . . ."

The rest of his sentence was cut off.

"No!" JJ choked out with a smack to Dave's chest, "I _don't_ want to talk to them Dave! All they're going to do is tell me things that I don't want to hear! Details. And I don't _want_ the details. I know what I need to know. My husband . . ." her voice caught, "my husband is dead. And that's enough news for one night."

Though she knew that Dave was just trying to look out for her, to make sure that she wasn't making any 'hasty' decisions in the coming hours, this was her memory to form. This was going to be her night to remember until the day that _she _died. And she didn't want to remember a damn death speech being given in her living room.

The knock on the door was enough.

Knowing from the vehemence of JJ's reaction that this wasn't a point up for any additional discussion, Dave immediately dropped his previous train of thought. She was absolutely right, this was her husband, her life. These were her choices. And it wasn't his place to guide her to the ones that _he_ thought were best. The memory she would carry of this night was hers alone.

He was just a background player.

"All right," he soothed as he kissed the top of her head, "all right, whatever you want honey. I'm sorry. I'll go get rid of them." Then he took a breath and leaned back slightly, "but do you want me to ask them anything?"

"Just where he is now," JJ responded as another batch of tears began to spill down her face, "that's all I want to know. Where he is. Because I want to see him before," she swallowed, "well, before they do anything to him."

Though she needed to see Will one more time, she didn't want it to be after he'd been slathered in makeup and pumped full of formaldehyde. She wanted to see him as he really was.

And that's how she would remember him.

"Okay," Dave nodded as he started guiding JJ up the few steps to the main porch, "then let me get in there now to make sure that they know not to do anything until you get there."

Though he wasn't relishing the thought of taking her to the morgue, Dave completely understood her feelings on this point. The person in the coffin was never your loved one. That was the shell, stuffed and shellacked for the sake of society's sensibilities. What they thought was right.

What they wanted to see.

And they never wanted to see death as it really was.

So as he walked JJ over to a chair on the porch he asked the one question left.

"Do you want me to ask Will's partner to stay with the baby?"

"Um," JJ sniffled as she wiped her hand across her face, "shit. I didn't even think that far yet. But yeah, I guess so." She looked up at him, "do you think that's an imposition? I mean," she swiped at another tear running down her face, "she's obviously dealing with her own grief, is it right to ask her to stay here with him?"'

Though she hated the thought of leaving Henry at a time like this, even for just an hour, she could _not_ take her baby to a morgue. Not under any circumstances really, but certainly not to see the bloodied body of his dead father. Though his age was still counted in just months, she knew that on some level that memory could imprint. And she would hate herself if that happened.

If she somehow warped his little brain.

It was going to be bad enough for him growing up without a father, she didn't need to give him any additional psychological trauma. Her eyes started to burn again.

The dead dad was enough.

Dave's jaw hardened slightly.

"No offense to Detective Washington," he responded crisply, "but what she's dealing with doesn't come close to what you're dealing with. So no," his expression softened slightly as he squeezed JJ's hand, "I don't think it's an imposition at all to ask her to stay until we get back."

The baby was asleep, so all the woman had to do was just sit in the damn living room for an hour. And if she so much as raised an eyebrow at the request, Dave was going to drag her out back and give her an earful.

"All right then," JJ nodded, "if you can please do that, and um," she sniffed as she ran her hand down her terry cloth covered thigh, "once the rest of them are gone I'll just go upstairs and change quickly."

Not that she actually gave a shit about her appearance, but she was, literally, not dressed. No bra, no pants, just a nightshirt and her bathrobe. At the very least she needed to put on something that she could leave the house in.

And maybe splash some water on her face.

"Okay," Dave nodded as he let go of her fingers, "I'll be back in a minute."

And then he turned and walked over to the front door. He turned the knob, stepped inside . . . and closed the door again.

And JJ sat there biting her hand . . . counting the seconds . . . and bouncing her knee, as she waited for these well-meaning . . . unwelcome . . . people to leave her home.

It was almost three minutes before the door opened again . . . her gaze stayed locked on the wooden planks. But . . . out of the corner of her eye . . . she could still clearly see the two men step onto the porch. And though they paused for a moment, a moment where she could telepathically sense the sympathies locked on their tongues . . . the script that they were supposed to read when they arrived at her home . . . they said nothing.

That had to have been Dave's doing.

Still though, even with their silence, she waited until the vibration of their footsteps had traveled off the porch and down the front steps. And then she waited a moment longer for the car doors to open . . . and then shut.

Finally . . . as the engine turned over . . . she lifted her head.

Dave was watching her from the doorway.

He put his hand out.

"Come one honey," he whispered, "Detective Washington is in the kitchen making coffee. I didn't think you wanted to see her, so she's going to stay in there until we leave. But we found the bottles in the fridge, and she said she has two nephews, so she's fine even if the baby wakes up."

The woman had actually volunteered to stay before Dave had even asked her the question, so now he was feeling like a bit of an asshole for the nasty thoughts that he'd had about her.

Middle of the night death calls didn't exactly bring out his best.

JJ stared at Dave for a moment, processing the words he said . . . wondering if she was being a terrible bitch choosing to ignore Ginnie's grief to instead fully embrace her own . . . and then she nodded as she stood up.

"Thank you," she murmured back as she started walking towards the door. Her fingers slipped into Dave's as she reached the welcome mat.

She looked up at him.

"Please don't call Hotch until morning. I don't want to wake Emily," her voice faded as she dropped his hand, "she needs her rest."

Dave swallowed, remembering then just how weak Emily had become . . . remembering then that Death had been stalking them for a few months now.

It had finally taken a body.

And so he nodded back slowly.

"All right. Though," his hand slid over JJ's back as she stepped through the doorway, "I would like to call Derek if you don't have any objection. I think he'd like to know."

It was not a question that Derek would _like_ to know what had happened, of course he would WANT to know what had happened. But more to the point, as JJ nodded her approval of his request, Dave didn't want to voice this (additional) somewhat insensitive point aloud . . . somebody on the team needed to actually be paying attention to their work. And with Hotch and Emily already on leave, and Dave knowing that he was going to be stuck to JJ's side for at least the next seventy-two hours . . . perhaps longer . . . someone had to take point for emergencies at the office. And Spencer's shoulders were still a little too slim for that responsibility to fall primarily on him.

Especially right now.

It had been hard enough for him these last few months dealing with Emily's cancer. Since Dave had arrived he'd noticed how protective she was of him, how much she mothered him . . . but in a good way. Spencer was a fine man, but he was also still a boy in many respects, and Emily had filled a gap that had been left by his own mother's mental illness, and resulted stunting of his childhood.

Emily had been making him stronger.

But with her now out of the office . . . and so very ill . . . JJ had stepped into that gap, taking on that role of protector and confidant.

And now she was being taken from him too.

And though it was for very different reasons, the outcome was the same . . . she'd be gone.

And he was not going to take this news well.

So as Dave watched JJ slowly climb the staircase of her home, he was slipping his phone from his pocket. And when she finally stepped onto the landing and disappeared around the corner of the upstairs hall, he looked down and quickly began to scroll through his contacts.

Five seconds later the phone was ringing in his ear, twenty seconds after that he heard Morgan's gruff voice replacing that trill. And thirty seconds later . . . after Dave had finished explaining why he'd ripped Derek from peaceful slumber . . . there was only silence.

It was weighted . . . and it lingered.

Finally Derek came back again, and this time Dave knew that the huskiness in his tone was born of grief. He and Will had been friends, bonded by both their age and a choice to wear a uniform.

"I'll meet you at the morgue."

And then he was gone.

Dave stared at the phone, his jaw grinding as his fist clenched. Then he began running through the numbers again. His gaze bouncing back and forth over his speed dials, trying to decide which one.

Finally he hit the button . . . the phone began to ring . . . and then another tired voice came on the line.

He closed his eyes . . . and he said it all again. This time when he was done, there was weeping. And there were questions, asking what she could do, what did he need her to do.

For a moment Dave just stood there, staring at a picture of JJ and Will on the mantle.

They were laughing.

"Food," he finally whispered back, "she's going to need food. People will be stopping in, and there's going to be the gathering after the service, and I don't want her to have to deal with anything. Can you take of all that?"

"Yes," Garcia wiped her hand across her face as she reached for the lamp, "I'll make sure it's all set. And I'll pick up some diapers and formula for Henry too. Just in case."

"Right," Dave's voice faded, "just in case. Thank you Penelope."

And then he hung up. And he stared at his phone again, his fingers clenching around the small black device, his conscience debated . . . finally he shook his head.

No . . . his grip relaxed . . . Spencer could sleep a little longer. He didn't need to go to the morgue with them, so he'd call him when he called Hotch, maybe around five . . . or six.

Emily did need her rest.

So with that . . . the initial calls done . . . Dave went over and dropped down on the couch. As he listened to the silence of a house that was once filled with a happy family, he put his head in his hands.

And he waited.

* * *

_A/N 2: I have no illusions about suddenly whipping through this one, not after the last ridiculously long hiatus :) but I am hoping to kick it along a bit so it has a bit more substance to it than where's here now, which is like thirty minutes of their lives! But what's frustrating is that I DO have a very clear, linear, vision of the events in this world. I know everything that happens, and when character A, B, C enters from stage left, and what they say, I can just NEVER find the time to write them! And to be honest, it is rare that I have such a clear vision when I start out. Usually I know the beginning and the end, and a bit of the twists and turns of the middle, but how it pulls together is as much a mystery to me as it is to you :) So again, it would be nice if the ONE story I can envision all the way through, I actually was able to work on occasionally._

_But anyway, such is life. Everybody's got their problems, this is a minor one :) I am going to try to get the next chapter up though in the next round of updates._

_If you've read All The King's Horses, you'll know that's another story that opens around a knock at the door, but this world, I see the 'mundane' elements of the process taking more prominence over these few chapters. Finding a babysitter, the food at the house, the trip to the funeral home, all of that other stuff that's inescapable, that Horses (because of its sub plot) didn't/won't cover. There were different 'elements of death' to cover there. But this story isn't just about the initial days, it's following JJ forward from one life to the next. Again, I guess some overlap in theme to the new story I just posted, Life, Continued, but it couldn't actually be more different in every other way. For one thing, she'll have no new love interest here. Just support of friends, and with Emily and Hotch somewhat sidelined, that means the rest of the team will have more prominence than usual for me. I like everyone, they just aren't where my brain usually gravitates. And of course there is the time factor, I have none :)_

_Maybe one more update tonight, but that is below fifty percent on the odds scale._


	3. The Business of Death

**Author's Note: ** I know this probably isn't really on anybody's 'clamoring for updates' list but this is what you're getting :)

Picking up now with Morgan at the morgue.

* * *

**Other Accounts:**

_**Personal website: www . fractured-reality . com**_

_**Twitter: ffsienna27 **__– For story announcements, etc. If the alerts, (or the site), are down, this is a backup to find out what's going on for postings. There's also random randomness that is my brain._

_**Tumblr: sienna27 **__– More randomness._

_**Tumblr: cmfanficprompts **__– Just as the name describes. Jointly run with Kavi Leighanna. _

* * *

**Story Title Bonus Challenge #13**

Author: Ray Bradbury

Title Challenge: Death Is A Lonely Business

* * *

**The Business of Death**

Morgan had his forehead pressed against the top rim of the steering wheel. His hands were curled into tight fists and pressing into his thighs.

He was crying.

Not a lot . . . just a few tears had spilled over . . . but for a man who didn't cry, ever, a few tears were a flood. And though he wished that he could force these emotions back down into the bottle and shove the stopper in again, he told himself that it was better to just embrace them now. Now . . . he took a shallow breath . . . before JJ and Dave arrived. Because then he was going to have to be strong.

For her.

So he was giving himself these few minutes to grieve for his dead friend . . . and then he would suck it up. Because that's what he did. That's what _they_ did. All of them. They picked up and they moved on, and they pretended like moving on was the normal thing to do. Like each death wasn't tearing another layer off their souls.

They were good actors.

But he had to wonder how well their acting was going to hold up now. If their public masks would take them through yet another tragedy.

Or if this time they would crack.

Derek was pulled from his musings on death, by the sound of another engine . . . and given the hour, not even three am . . . he figured that it had to be Dave and JJ. So he quickly sat up and scrubbed his hands across his face.

Slightly watery eyes were okay, evidence of actual tears sliding down his face, were not. So after a quick check in the rearview mirror, he took a breath and reached over to snag the door handle.

As he stepped out into the brightly lit parking area, his eyes snapped over to the next row of cars. There were only maybe a dozen vehicles scattered throughout the lot. Of course that made sense, because the overnight shift would be light. A skeleton, as they say.

Skeleton.

For a second Morgan paused to wonder if anyone at the morgue ever made that joke. If they thought that it would be funny.

The irony of it.

Just as quickly as the thought came, he pushed it away. It was just his brain making nervous ramblings . . . nothing more. So with a hard swallow he watched the doors of the other car begin to open . . . his friends now stepping out. And then there was the golden blonde hair glowing under the hard sodium light.

JJ.

His eyes started to well up once more . . . he blinked, pushing the tears back again. And then he took another deep breath, that time it was harder to suck in the air, and started towards her.

Her head was down and her hands were fidgeting with the zipper of her windbreaker. She looked small . . . and alone. Very alone. And he wanted so badly to make this horrible thing better for her. To do _something_, for her.

But there was nothing.

All they had was the process. One step at a time. The first one, "_Notifications_" . . . that was a task half done. So now they were on to step two. That was an ugly one.

"_Claiming The Body."_

JJ's watery eyes shifted up to his then, almost like she could hear his thoughts.

"Hey, little girl."

His words were soft as he stepped closer, trying to gauge his movements against her mood . . . would she appreciate the hug of support? Or did she not want to be touched?

How well was she keeping it together?

But then seeing her bite her lip, right before she reached out for his hand, Derek had his answer.

Contact was okay.

So he slipped her smaller hand into his . . . then he squeezed her fingers, and pulled her over and against his chest.

"Whatever you and Henry need," he murmured against her hair, his voice starting to get thick. "I'll take care of it. _Anything._"

She sniffled into his t-shirt.

"Thanks," JJ sniffed again and took a breath before turning to look at Dave coming around the front of the car.

"Thank you both for coming with me," she continued softly as she let her gaze fall down to the asphalt, "I don't think I could do this part by myself."

"Nor do you have to," Dave responded gently, "you won't have to do _any_ of this by yourself. And technically, and I'm just putting this out there as an offer that you can take or leave on the table, you don't have to do any of it, period. Derek or I can handle this part," he tipped his head, "if you'd prefer."

Seeing JJ's head slowly shaking, right before she looked up at him with a quiet, but firm, "thank you, but no," Rossi had his answer to that proposal. But the answer was as expected. The process of burying your dead was a deeply personal one.

You didn't outsource it.

So he nodded back.

"Whatever you want." And with that they turned and started across the lot.

After they'd walked a few feet, Morgan slipped his arm around JJ's shoulders. And another step after that, her head was resting on his chest. It gave Dave some small degree of relief to see that interaction. To see that she was letting him help.

That she was taking the support.

She'd folded up a bit on herself in the car, and he had started to worry that she might try and go it alone. And Christ knew that he didn't want that. So this was good . . . he watched as Morgan rubbed his hand down her arm . . . this was very good.

This was a connection.

So the three of them continued up to the building, where they had to stop while Dave pressed the buzzer by the main entrance. Given that it was after 'business hours' . . . though technically death didn't really have 'business hours' . . . they had to wait for somebody to come unlock the door before they could get inside. And after a minute of anxiously waiting out in the chilly spring air, a voice came through the black box, Rossi explained who they were and why they were there. Then he held his badge up to the camera he could see pointed down at them. After a pause there was an, "okay," and then the door buzzed.

Morgan grabbed it.

And with him still keeping JJ tucked against his side, Dave followed in behind them, one hand in his jacket pocket, one fist already clenched with the stress of the night.

And from there the trip began to alternate between officious . . . and heartbreaking.

First there was the signing in at the desk. That's where they all showed their ID, and they all wrote down their names in the little book that the attendant put up on the counter.

JJ went first, Rossi went last. And his jaw clenched when he saw that she'd written out her full, legal . . . married . . . name.

_Mrs. Jennifer Jareau LaMontagne_

He'd never seen her use it before, and it broke his heart to know that she'd never use it again. But he pushed that thought away as he put the leaky blue pen back down on the clipboard.

"All set," he murmured with a quiet clearing of his throat.

And then the book disappeared back behind the counter. And then there was a shuffling of papers and some typing in the computer, and then a, "one second please," as the man picked up a file and disappeared through a door behind him.

For a few minutes the three of them stood out there, awkwardly shuffling their feet and rubbing their hands across their mouths. JJ had stopped crying, but the tension was building for all of them. And though they'd all done this trip to the morgue probably, literally, hundreds of times before . . . this time it was different. Though in some ways, Dave realized that it was always different.

Every death, every case . . . every grieving family. They all left their own special mark.

Wounds of the flesh.

And as he saw the attendant slipping back through the door, Dave wondered just how many more trips like this he would be making before he was done. Fifty? A hundred?

More?

But really, the bigger question was . . . how many more could he stand? How many more until that was enough?

Until he had to retire for good.

But would death really leave him even then? Because this trip tonight, this one wasn't because of the job. Not _his_ job. And Emily's cancer, if that took her from them in the end, that one wouldn't be because of the job either. That would just be life.

And life was a cold hearted bitch.

The truth of that reality . . . that this might not be their only funeral that year . . . was too much for Dave to handle at that moment. So he pushed that thought away, _far_, away, to focus on the matter at hand . . . getting JJ through the worst day of her life.

At least the worst day so far.

She was already shaking as they started down the corridor . . . and he knew that it was going to go all downhill from there.

First they followed the attendant into a small, dimly lit room with a wooden bench on one side, and a big piece of glass covering half of the opposite wall. It was the viewing window. And though the heavy green curtain was closed, JJ immediately began to shake her head.

"No," her voice was husky and faintly panicked as she put her hand up, "no, no not here. I want to see him. In person. Not through the glass."

After exchanging a quick look with both Dave and Morgan, the attendant tipped his head.

"Okay," he responded with a slow nod, "we can do that. Just uh, give me a second please."

And once more he disappeared into a door off behind him.

Though this time he was gone for barely a minute. And then the attendant . . . Dave noted for the first time then, that he hadn't even bothered registering his name when they were introduced . . . came back into the room. He tipped his head, and they followed him through the adjacent door.

The room they walked into was much colder, and much brighter . . . and in so many ways . . . so much sadder, than the one that they had just left. Because this was the room behind the curtain. There was no pane of glass to distance yourself from the death.

Will's body was right in front of them.

The outline was clear under the sheet. And as Dave's jaw clenched, he heard a faint whimper coming from his side.

JJ.

And though he tried to take her hand, to offer . . . if not comfort . . . at least companionship, she shook it off. Her focus was completely on the sheet. Her eyes were watery and wide as saucers. Like a swirling ocean.

And a tidal wave was just about to hit the beach.

But at least for the moment, she was holding it back. And she was doing it without any physical support from the men in the room. Morgan was hovering . . . but still giving her some space. And then the medical examiner asked JJ if she was ready, and she nodded as her closed fist came up to scrub across her chin.

"Do it," she whispered hoarsely.

And so he slowly pulled back the sheet and carefully folded it down over Will's shoulders. It was clear then that the captain had called in time. There was no Y incision. So the body most definitely hadn't been autopsied yet.

In fact . . . Rossi's brow darkened as JJ tearfully instructed the doctor to pull the sheet down further . . . they hadn't done anything to him yet.

Literally nothing but strip off his clothes.

Because not only was there blood splatter up on his jawline and smears of gore all over his chest . . . but there was also the big fucking GAPING hole in his gut. Two pumps from a sawed off shotgun, and that's what you get.

Devastation.

And though this had been JJ's request, to see her husband's death as it really was, Rossi felt a burst of rage that this horrible thing had happened to this good man. And then that his wife had to see him this way.

So violated.

And in that moment, Dave suddenly realized beyond no doubt that Will NEVER would have wanted her to see this. To remember this horror. And Dave was just about to yank the sheet back up . . . fuck it, she'd seen enough . . . when suddenly JJ reached out to touch the body.

Dave froze, watching as her fingertips lightly ghosted over husband's lips. And then she took a step forward . . . and she leaned down to kiss his cheek.

And that's when she completely lost it.

"His skin is COLD!" she cried out as she fell back in horror. Literally, she crumpled down to her knees, wailing, with her hands pressed against her face. And Derek . . . God did Dave love him in that moment . . . he went right down to the ground with her.

First with his arm wrapped around her shoulders, and then when it became clear that she was choking on her sobs, he shifted around and gently scooped her up from the floor with a murmured, "I gotcha baby, I gotcha." Then Dave . . . feeling his own eyes watering with both grief and empathy . . . rushed over to get the door so Morgan could carry her out to the viewing room. But then the attendant hurried by them, gesturing out to the main hall as he told them that there was another room two doors down with more privacy.

It was a family room with no other exits.

So Morgan kept going, clutching JJ tightly to his chest. And though Rossi started to follow after them . . . at least into the corridor . . . once they'd disappeared through the other doorway, he stopped.

Because Morgan had just kicked the door shut.

And that's when Dave realized that his presence wasn't needed in there. There wasn't anything more that he could do for JJ, that Morgan couldn't do for her on his own. Basically she just needed somebody to be with her.

But she didn't need an audience.

So Dave turned around . . . and then he turned around again.

He didn't know where to go.

Suddenly his role, his duties, they were unclear. He'd come to the morgue as support for JJ . . . but JJ didn't need him. Not right then. And it was still too early to call Hotch or Spencer. So for a second Dave stood very still in the middle of the hall, forced to listen to the muffled sounds of JJ's grief consuming her. She sounded broken . . . lost.

And he wondered if she'd be able to come back.

Either way though, that despair was like a spike in his gut. But he realized then that he was going to have to get used to it. Because this was only Day One.

And there ten thousand days to go.

Christ . . . he leaned over with his head in his hands . . . maybe this had been one morgue trip too many. Maybe he had finally reached his limit.

Maybe his exit ramp really was coming up.

Feeling a sudden tightness in chest that had nothing to do with his own grief, or JJ's, Dave suddenly straightened up. Then he sucked in a deep breath and started walking quickly down the empty corridor. He didn't even stop when he reached the exit. He just banged through the doors and kept right on going.

He needed some air.

* * *

_A/N 2: Sorry this is another one that is going up like a tooth being pulled. It's not that I don't know where I'm going, it's just it is a Debbie Downer story. Kind of like Pound of Flesh, but not really at all. This is just sad. But I think I'm going to stay with it for another chapter or so exclusively. And that's because I do (believe it or not) have bigger plans for this spinoff world, and I'd like to eventually get TO them. And also, I haven't been able to write anything these last few weeks, (basically somebody was a douche and it messed up my head as douches are wont to do), and this was the first door I got back into any of my worlds. And obviously if something's working for me, I'd like to stick with it until I shake off the rest of the cobwebs in my brain._

_Thanks folks. And please bear with me, we'll get back to your favorites as soon as we can :)_


End file.
